


Change

by Infamint



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Background Relationships, Eventual Fluff, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-06 18:50:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15201155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infamint/pseuds/Infamint
Summary: Ike's matured. Soren feels that he hasn't kept up. Some character introspection with minor references to other ships.





	1. Baby steps

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place a couple of months after the end of Path or Radiance.

It’s been a long year.

Soren had gone through much more in shorter sums of time; that occurred to him. It’s been on his mind a lot, actually. His past, his upbringing, how one innocent, benign encounter so easily altered the course of his life. This was the easy part. This was, and would hopefully continue to be, his golden age. This was his time to recover, to mature, to properly grow up.

 

It was a naïve aspiration. There would be war once more, perhaps even on a greater scale than the mad king’s, but there was time until then. He couldn’t go on like this, keeping— A tap on his shoulder broke his chain of thought.

 

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Ike had slowed down to match Soren’s pace. “We’re going to have a lot of work on our plate when we get back,” he remarked.

 

Soren nodded silently in agreement. Small talk was neither his nor Ike’s forte. “We should set up camp soon,” he told him, eyes gazing upon the setting sun. “Things change quickly, don’t they,” he mused quietly.

 

There was a mutual silence between them until they arrived at the clearing. Soren sat at the edge of the forest, keeping to himself at a time when he didn’t typically keep to himself. This was a time to oversee the setting up of camp and distribution of rations, to verify their resources, maybe even visit the nearest town. Crimea was more than friendly towards them; there was much to be gained. But he sat there, feeling the cool breeze on his face and contemplating.

“Are you feeling unwell, Soren?” This time Ike placed his hand against his forehead, checking his temperature. When had Ike grown so stealthy?

“There’s always work to be done. That’s what you tell me, anyway,” Ike continued.

Soren was jolted up by the statement, fear and panic creeping up on him as they always did. “Of course, commander. Excuse me,” he quickly replied, bowing his head down as he prepared to head back to camp.

 

“Wait, no—,” Ike stumbled over his words, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “That’s, that’s not what I meant. Soren, I’m sorry, please stay,” he implored, reaching for Soren’s wrist.

 

This was hard. Harder than he’d expected. How could change come so easily yet be so difficult. Soren, the fool. “Oh.” Oh. He resisted the urge to jerk his hand away and found himself awkwardly close to the commander.

 

“It was a joke. You’re always so busy, and when I’d come to you to tell you to take a break you’d always say that there’s more work, and, well, maybe it’s not much of a joke,” Ike struggled to explain, slowly releasing his gentle hold on Soren. This was the last time he’d take flirting advice from any of the guys, save Oscar.

 

Soren chuckled. A pained, almost self-deprecating chuckle. “I’m tired, Ike. That’s all,” he said dismissively, as though such an admission was typical of him. He looked tired, with bags under his eyes and his skin pallid as ever. Everything he wanted to say always rested on the tip of his tongue, agonizingly close to coming out. So, he agonized.

 

Ike’s eyebrows refused to unfurrow, and he continued to eye him with concern. It was weird to think of Soren as sensitive when he could be so… unfeeling. “I hope I’m not intruding,” he said hesitantly. He looked at Soren with his eyebrows raised, half expecting him to either leave or tell him to leave.

 

“You know that you’re always welcome, Ike,” Soren asserted, sitting down once more at the bottom of the tree. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “I don’t like being this way,” he added quietly, “There’s no need.”

 

“You shouldn’t push yourself too hard, Soren,” Ike reassured him. He sat down next to him, crossing his legs under himself in a childish manner. “You can relax for a few days, weeks. Titania can manage, and we still have a hefty amount of gold left over.”

 

To speak so casually, to relax so easily; Soren wanted that. Around Ike, he ought to be like that. “I know, but…” Soren turned to him, almost expecting him to have his answer. He didn’t. Ike was off looking towards the encampment, waving a hand at Mist when she passed by. “I’m scared there won’t be enough time,” he admitted.

 

“Time for what?”

Ike waited for an answer, but none came. “I’ll always be here,” he reassured.

 

“I know,” Soren said, “Can I ask you a personal question?”

They didn’t discuss personal matters, never fully. He was to blame, of course, but it also didn’t come naturally. There just hadn’t been any time to spare during the war, and he’d been away before the war, and he could barely bring himself to talk to Ike before that. They always had a bond, some sort of connection, but it would fade should it be left unkindled.

 

“Sure,” Ike replied, just a hint of surprise in his voice. His attention was now fully on Soren, his inquisitive gaze piercing.

 

The sage felt pressured by his own question. He’d hate to cross that line. He looked down at his lap, down at his nervously clasped together hands. “We’ve had a variety of individuals in our company. Have you ever been interested in any of them, in that way?” His heart was pounding and he had butterflies in his stomach; he couldn’t believe how smoothly the question had come out.

 

“Geez, Soren, you’re worse than Mist!” Ike was caught completely off-guard, but he laughed it off. His cheeks reddened with embarrassment, and he ran an uncertain hand through his hair, the action so awkward that he fumbled with his headband. “In passing, I might’ve… I never gave it much thought. There aren’t that many—,” he hesitated for a moment, “—Um, guys my age.” He didn’t bother with redoing his headband, leaving his unruly hair to fall over his eyes.

 

Soren looked up at Ike in disbelief, eyebrows furrowed as he processed this new information. “Guys, huh,” he remarked audibly. He pushed his bangs behind his ears, allowing Ike to see his profile. His eyes were fixated on the floor, though. Could he admit that as easily as Ike? Soren wanted to say more, but all he could do was purse his lips in thought. He pressed his clammy hands into his lap, trying to wipe away the sweat discreetly.

 

“Is that bad?”

 

“What is?”

 

“Being attracted to you.”

 

 


	2. Missteps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unclear boundaries have a tendency of complicating things.

It was getting darker. Ike had enjoyed looking at the jagged shadows cast by leaves and branches slowly shift back and forth across Soren’s face. The shadows had almost faded, grown dim, by the time Ike made his chaste confession. Or rather, question. Was it wrong? Shinon had said so, but he also adamantly referred to the laguz as sub-humans and treated him with disdain. Or was that why? He didn’t dare look at Soren in the eye. He instead toyed with his headband, wrapping the fabric around every other finger. He anxiously waited for an answer, feeling like more of a child than he had in years. He’d matured on the battlefield, as a fighter, a commander, but he felt so inexperienced and out of place here. He could always so easily confide in Soren, talk to him, and he wondered if this was how Soren felt beneath the surface.

 

“No, I don’t think so,” Soren finally answered. His voice was eerily calm—small, even. “I should head back though, commander. As should you,” he added firmly. He started to stand up, body swaying for a moment before he stabilized himself. All the same, he extended his hand out to Ike.

 

Relief washed over Ike for only the most minute moment. He felt that he could breathe again, but Soren quickly took that breath away yet again. “Ah, thanks,” was all he could bring himself to say as he took the offered hand, though he relied on his strength alone to stand up; Soren looked like a strong enough breeze could topple him over.

 

“I just need time to think, alone,” Soren added, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

 

Ike could only watch as Soren walked away from him. Time… If all it took was time, he had plenty of it to spare. He felt lighter, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, but he walked with heavy steps. He’d been too busy, distracted, to notice the wear and tear on Soren. Even in Melior, when things should have calmed down, his relationship with Soren had somehow… dried out. He saw him during some of the political meetings, for his daily reports, but that was all. He hadn’t been troubled by it then, but now… It seemed naïve of him to assume that Soren would take care of himself properly. He always looked kept together, but to touch him and feel nothing but bone, to fear crushing him… There was nothing inherently weak about Soren.

 

He considered skipping dinner, avoiding the hustle and bustle of a packed mess tent, but he remembered that it was just the Greil mercenaries now. It was quiet enough; Titania and Rhys seemed to be engaged in a rather serious conversation; Boyd was going on about one of his great achievements to Mist, talking loud enough with his mouth full for the entire room to hear; Mia was urging Rolf to hurry up and finish eating so he could help her with her late-night spar; and Shinon was nowhere to be found. It didn’t look like much had changed. Ike walked up to Oscar, grabbing a generous serving of tonight’s meal for himself. “Is Soren dining in his tent?” He inquired, though he was already quite sure of the answer.

 

“I haven’t seen him, actually. I set aside his plate if you’d like to take it to him, commander,” Oscar explained.

 

“Of course, I’ll take care of that,” Ike responded promptly.

 

* * *

“Soren? I’m coming in.”

 

Ike didn’t frequent Soren’s quarters. It was usually Soren that sought him out, often in communal areas. This area wasn’t anywhere near as neat and tidy as he’d expected. Parchment paper was scattered everywhere, books and maps covered every tabletop, and Soren looked like he had only just sat up on his cot. Had he gone to sleep? So soon? Ike was intruding, but he took another step inside. “I brought you your dinner,” he said sheepishly, eyes darting around the room in search of a chair or an empty space on a table.

 

“I must’ve dozed off. Excuse the mess,” Soren muttered, still groggy. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, but he made no other indication of getting up.

 

“Are you sure that you’re okay, Soren?”

 

“I told you that I was tired, Ike. Sleeping is how most people deal with that,” he snapped.

 

“You’ve hardly eaten today. And now you’re going to sleep on an empty stomach. Am I supposed to just keep standing by and do nothing? Just wait?” Ike retorted, voice shaky with emotion. He hadn’t meant to get so worked up, but he felt guilty, and now, helpless. “That’s just not healthy. You can’t convince me otherwise…” His voice trailed off then; he’d nearly frightened Soren away less than an hour ago with a joke; how could he expect any better a reaction to this?

 

Soren’s eyes widened, and he instinctively backed up, bringing his feet up onto the bed. “I don’t have much of an appetite,” he clarified, though his body language betrayed his strong tone of voice.

 

“You know better,” Ike replied. He wanted to move closer, to get a better look at him—it was quite dark, and Soren had but one candle lit at the opposite end of the tent—but it felt inappropriate. He shouldn’t have come here, that thought kept repeating itself in his mind, but he was here. “I’ll just—,” he paused to look around one more time, “—leave this here.” Ike set the plate down on a sturdy tome and prepared to leave.

 

“I didn’t mean to…” Soren sighed, struggling to find the right words, “I just, I haven’t been sleeping well.” He ran his hand through his hair, pushing the unbound locks back.

 

Ike hadn’t noticed before. He rarely saw Soren with his hair loose; it was a dazzling sight, though he unfortunately couldn’t see much of it. Soren looked so grown up in that moment, so capable, but he knew otherwise. It was weird.

 

Soren had already felt awful; getting reprimanded by Ike just made him feel worse. He was to blame, though. “The oil lantern’s right behind you,” he pointed out, hoping that the statement was indicative enough of a welcoming attitude. He glanced at the food that Ike brought him with limited interest. “Could you also bring that over here,” he added quietly, embarrassed. It did feel awkward to have Ike in his quarters, especially at this hour, just standing there, looking at him when he looked like this.

Going to bed in his robes was a bit of a habit now. It had hardly been intended; he read when he couldn’t sleep and preferred to read in bed. It often ended up being anything but comfortable, though. The belts, the pouches, his cloak, his second cloak... It was suffocating. He hadn’t even slept long.

 

Ike thanked Soren as he handed him his plate and set the lit lantern on the nearest table. The warm light between them seemed to shift the ambiance. Looking up at Ike, he saw eyes gazing at him carefully, almost scrutinizing him. His breath got caught in his throat. “I must look a mess,” he said nervously, averting his gaze. He fretted with the collar of his cloak, struggling to align it properly.

 

“Hardly,” Ike reassured, “May I?”

 

“Sure,” Soren answered without a moment’s hesitation. He tilted his head back, desperately trying to look cool and unphased by the gesture though his body visibly tensed up; he clenched his jaw, tightened his neck, and sat upright as a darning needle stuck in a board.

He didn’t dare look at Ike, instead staring at the lamp light as though it were his only hope. He exhaled a sigh of relief, only now realizing that he’d held his breath. And only now realizing that Ike had misread his intents. He glanced down at his chest, saw that his collar’s belt was undone—all the way, totally open—and let out a startled, “Oh!”

He held the two ends of his cloak tight to his chest, as if he wasn’t wearing a clean white shirt under it. He breathed heavily, mortified.

 

Ike stumbled back, almost tripping over his own feet and colliding with the table. “I— Did I hurt you?” There was outright fear in his voice.

 

Mia rushed in, practice sword in hand, ready to charge forward. “Soren! Commander!” she just about shouted, eyes darting between the two of them. “What happened? Is there an intruder? An assassin?”

 

There was dead silence. Ike didn’t know what to say, how to answer when he was equally confused. Soren looked traumatized, frozen in time as the gears in his head turned. He tried to calm down, regain his composure, think of anything before he had the entire company in his tent.

 

“No?” Ike finally answered, uncertain. He didn’t want to make things worse for Soren, but he also didn’t have an honest answer for Mia—and now Rolf, who was standing right behind her.

 

“Ike startled me when he came in. That’s all,” Soren said calmly, looking the young swordswoman in the eye with unbridled fury. “Neither of you should feel welcome to barge in here whenever you please,” he continued, though Mia was the sole receiver of his hateful stare.

 

“I, I thought I was only performing my duty, sir! Excuse me,” she quickly responded, giving him a curt bow before leaving. Rolf was hesitant, examining the situation once more before following after her.

 

“Hey! Did you see that?” Rolf shouted, grabbing her by the shoulder to stop her in her tracks.

 

“See what?” Mia asked, impatient.

 

“Ike’s been there a while, now. Didn’t just come in. Soren, he lied.”

 

Mia stopped then. “So, you think he is in danger? Should we head back?”

 

“No, but there’s something going on.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't expecting so much feedback! Thank you for all the kudos and nice comment! I'll try to keep churning these out <:


	3. Oscillate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes some give and take to get into a rhythm.

Ike avoided Soren for the next few days. It was a difficult task when Soren was tackling his duties with such fervor. It made him feel even worse to see him work so tirelessly, especially when he found himself with near nothing to do. When Mia asked him to spar with her, he welcomed it wholeheartedly.

 

“You’re not going easy on me, are ya boss? Or ‘ve you lost your edge?” she challenged through heavy pants, wiping the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand. She was still riled up, ready to charge forward again, and she would have if Ike didn’t seem so out of it—and she wasn’t even particularly perceptive.

 

“I may be a bit out of practice,” Ike admitted. He’d been mostly dodging, only receiving a couple of shallow hits to his armor as Mia seemed to dance around him. She hit hard, too. He tried to focus, watch her movements, predict where the blows would land and counter just as aggressively, but his eyes were drawn to Soren every time he walked by. He hoped he’d look back, wished that he’d catch his attention, but he just kept going.

 

It was then that Mia hit him square in the side. The blade went straight through his armor, leaving a deep gash and drawing out a considerable amount of blood. “Ike!” she yelled out, shocked to see such an obvious attack go neither blocked, parried, nor dodged. “Oh goddess, I’ll get Rhys.” She dropped her blade and ran off to the mess hall, calling out Rhys’ name. She wasn’t panicked, just upset to have this sort of incident happen once more.

 

Soren stood still, staring at Ike. And Ike stared right back.

 

“Another sparring incident?” Rhys exclaimed, briskly walking over to Ike and kneeling over him. He held a staff over the wound, surprised by its depth. “Mia, you might want to consider a wooden sword,” he disciplined, though he only looked at Ike with concern.

 

“It’s not the same weight,” she complained, crossing her arms defensively. “I’m sorry boss, but you completely put your guard down. I assumed you were baiting me, like Shinon,” she went on, upset to see the blame shift onto her.

 

“She’s right,” Ike acquiesced, gritting his teeth through the pain. “How long will it take to heal?”

 

“A week, with the proper rest. I know you have a habit of opening up your wounds, but there’s no reason for it when we’re here,” Rhys warned. He wrapped a bandage over the wound, applying enough pressure to elicit a pained grunt from Ike.

 

“Alright, Mia, help me get him back to his quarters,” Rhys requested.

 

“I can make it on my own. Thank you, Rhys. Sorry, Mia,” Ike said, still trying to shake off the embarrassment of being decommissioned for a week from a friendly spar. In front of Soren. He tried to stand up effortlessly, but Mia ended up lending him a small hand.

 

* * *

 

He was halfway to his room when Soren stopped in front of him. “Hey.”

 

“Hey.”

 

“Let me help you,” Soren insisted, inviting Ike to lean on him for support. He wrapped the bigger man’s arm over his shoulders, and Ike was just about shocked that the mage didn’t collapse when he put his weight on him. Soren grinned. “I told you I’m not as weak as everyone likes to assume,” he jested.

 

Ike found himself astounded in more ways than one and caught off guard yet again. “I’m really sorry about the other night,” he said regardless, the statement planned since that same night. He had to apologize; he’d just left without ever understanding what he’d done to elicit such a reaction. Since he didn’t know, he figured it was best not to initiate anything (lest he make the same mistake).

 

“It was just a misunderstanding,” he admitted dismissively, “It’s been weird, not spending any time with you,” he continued, looking at him from the corner of his eyes. He pushed open the door to Ike’s quarters and helped him onto the bed. “I feel to blame for your injury.”

 

Ike winced as he was seated, the pain in his side now throbbing. “It’s alright. I can’t imagine staying still for a week, though… And Mist is going to kill me when she finds out,” he explained. He felt surprisingly comfortable; it was nothing short of normal, though; he had always been comfortable talking to Soren, expressing himself almost thoughtlessly. It was only recently, now that he’d been actively trying to steer their relationship in that direction, that things had gotten a tad awkward. He told himself it was to be expected, but it’s been keeping him up.

 

“She’s ridiculously overbearing, but in a good way,” Soren agreed.

He and Ike were sitting hip to hip, and tempting as it was to scoot away, he remained where he was. He rubbed his hands together in thought. “Your belt must be hurting you, so close to the wound,” he remarked, then moved his hands forward to unbuckle it.

 

It was only around his waist, but Ike felt this was an oddly intimate moment. Or maybe that could be said about every one of their encounters, or any physical contact between the two of them. “Oh, you’re right; that is a relief.” Ike finally felt capable of leaning back against the wall without being in excruciating pain. Soren’s next action, he didn’t think he would have expected it in a million years. He’d been sitting next to him, not too bizarre of an action, and now he was sitting on him, in his lap.

 

“Soren?” Ike asked, for the moment nothing more than confused and just a teeny bit turned on. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, so he just left them at his sides.

 

“It’s okay,” he reassured, leaning into Ike (carefully) to give him a chaste kiss on the mouth. He gripped Ike’s chest tightly (nervously). “It’s okay,” he mumbled, meeting his eyes. The contact only lasted a moment though as Ike kissed him back, this time with barely contained passion.

 

And, for what seemed like the umpteenth time, Soren jolted up like a wyvern struck by Elthunder. “I-I’m sorry, I thought I was ready, for this,” he apologized, nervously staring at the ground. What had it been, a week? A week of mulling this over, preparing himself, sorting through his personal issues, _strategizing_ , and for what? Another encounter that ended in shambles. Would he ever be ready? Was he just wasting Ike’s time? Desperately hanging on to this hope that would lead to nothing.

 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, like you said,” Ike rushed to declare, standing up in what now felt like the worst way possible. “I’m as ready as you are, okay?” he continued, trying to keep the situation from escalating any further, from getting out of hand again.

 

“Ike, if you want to find someone else, keep your options open—,” Soren talked almost hysterically, speaking between labored breaths.

 

“Don’t even say that!”

He’d never yelled at Soren before. Sure, he’d had his outbursts, but they were always directed at someone else, anyone else. And he now felt sick to his stomach. “It hurts me when you say things like that,” he admitted, tears starting to well up in his eyes. “This is hard for me, too.” It was then that the physical pain was too much to bear, and he collapsed back onto the bed. “Damned Mia,” he cursed under his breath, thought coming out completely unfiltered. He pressed his hand against the wound, doing the only thing he knew he was supposed to do when he was hurt.

 

“Ike, no, you’re making it worse.” Soren reprimanded, basic instincts kicking in and overriding his panic and anxiety. His voice was still shaky. “Let go, Ike. Let me help you,” he insisted, forcefully moving his hand away. He removed the soaked dressing and reached into his pouch for a vulnerary, generously applying the ointment to Ike’s reopened wound. “Has Rhys lost his mind? A week? The level of incompetence in this mercenary group,” he scoffed though tears, keeping his face lowered just enough that Ike couldn’t see, “I need to get a healing staff. Don’t move, I’ll be right back,” Soren warned, quickly turning around to leave the room.

 

Ike chuckled. He was keeled over in agony, but the previous situation was completely diffused. Goddess, Soren kissed him. He kissed him back. Things just went south after that, but that kiss… It really happened. He would have run his fingers across his lips in contemplation, but Soren told him not to move, and he’d been well advised. His decisiveness in these situations, it always put him at ease. Even though he was gritting his teeth.

 

“You wouldn’t believe the mess in the armory. Someone knocked everything over. Broken staves, from whom am I supposed to deduct that? Did we—,” Soren cut his tirade short when Ike let out a small laugh.

 

“I’m sorry, it’s just so you,” Ike clarified.

 

Soren furrowed his eyebrows in amusement. “Our finances are no laughing matter,” he replied. He kneeled down in front of Ike and raised the mend staff over the laceration. There was a bright light and the bleeding finally stopped as the wound was closed once more. “This _will_ take weeks to properly heal. I’ll have Mist bring you your meals,” he elaborated.

“Can’t you?” Ike asked almost childishly. “You’ll need to check the dressing, anyway,” he requested. 

 

Soren glanced up at him wordlessly, then set aside the staff. “I’m just going to lift up your shirt so that I can properly bandage the wound,” he warned. It was a warning that he usually went without saying.

 

“Wait, let me take off my armor and my jacket first.” He unwrapped his cloak easily enough. But when it came to his shoulder pad, he struggled. He didn’t want to twist his torso too much, but he couldn’t reach the buckle any other way. He noticed Soren staring at him disapprovingly. “I could use your help,” Ike said halfheartedly, narrowing his eyes at him.

 

Eventually the top armor was off and Ike only had his burgundy shirt on. He could barely see the blood stain. “You should probably get this washed, then Oscar can patch it up with the rest of your clothes,” Soren advised, holding onto the hem of the shirt.

 

Ike frowned.

 

“Come on, I’ll help you again.” Soren gingerly rolled up the shirt until it was up to Ike’s arms. “Cross your arms over your chest, like this, it should hurt less.”

 

If this hurt less, he was more grateful than ever to have Soren around. He was pleasantly surprised when the application of the bandage barely pained him. And only now realized he was sitting around shirtless with Soren. And all that tension was back in the air—for him at least.

 

“Half these scars would’ve healed right if you’d left them alone,” Soren remarked, crossing his arms over his chest. He cocked one eyebrow, examining Ike’s upper body the same way he went over a map before a battle. “This—.” Soren ran the tips of his fingers over a scar that reached diagonally across Ike’s chest, the ginger touches a stark contrast to his harsh tone of voice, “—is from when you tripped and fell on your sword.” He chuckled then, though he clearly recalled how frightened he’d felt when the now-hilarious, then-terrifying moment occurred. “You were lucky to have tilted the blade over; the laceration was shallow…enough.”

 

“The first time, Boyd pushed me. Second time, I fell out of my bed. _Third_ time, I was having a light spar with Boyd. The fourth time was the same as the third time,” Ike admitted humorously, well-aware of his missteps and questionable decisions. Slowly, he lowered himself onto the bed, then slid his legs, boots-n-all, up onto it.

 

“And you’d try to hide it. Every one of those times, you’d walk around all funny, leaving little traces of blood all over the encampment until Mist noticed. It took her days, sometimes,” Soren continued. He smiled absently, lowering his eyes toward the ground. “I should get going. Group of mercenaries to manage, you know how it is,” he teased, “I’ll leave this here.” He grabbed the staff and leaned it against the wall beside Ike, figuring that for the moment, it was safer with him.

 

Ike reached for Soren’s wrist. “Hey, Soren.”

 

Soren only turned around halfway, looking back at him curiously. “Hey, Ike.”

 

He held his hand. “That was my first kiss.”

 

“Mine, too.”

 

They shared a knowing look, like two kids who were in a on a juicy secret.


	4. Knick-knacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things left unsaid.

“Shinon, you can either pay me now or the damages will be deducted from your next pay,” Soren warned, arms crossed over his chest in disinterest. The nitty gritty details of running a mercenary group seemed to always fall upon him; Titania was kind-hearted, but she was just, a quality that would only hurt the group in the long run. It took some lying and cheating to keep a business with a penchant for charity work alive and running.

Since Greil’s death, he probably had to deal with Shinon the most. He made the most trouble, took pleasure in his insubordination, and hated Ike. Most importantly, he hated Ike.

 

“That wa’n’t me,” Shinon muttered absently, continuing to wipe the blood off his steel bow without so much as looking up at him.

 

It reminded Soren that he needed to maintenance Ike’s equipment. He kept nudging it down along the list of his daily chores, always finding more urgent things to handle. The hours were fleeting.

“Don’t waste my time, and don’t waste your breath whining to Titania about the 3,800 G cut from your next pay,” Soren asserted. He of all people knew that that sum was well over Shinon’s pay. He huffed out a sigh and turned around to leave.

 

“Unless you want an arrow through your eye, you’d do well to let this time go, half-breed,” Shinon threatened, voice cool and unwavering.

 

Soren paused. Ah, he wasn’t there just yet. He didn’t think he’d be there in quite some time. “Empty threats only make you look weak, human,” he retorted, continuing to walk out. He remained alert, aware that Shinon wouldn’t so much as hesitate to shoot at him. Maybe not in the eye, but through his hands, shoulders, arm… Sure. He was valuable enough of an asset to get away with something like that. “Why don’t you go swindle some more money from Rolf and Gatrie,” he suggested, grinning to himself when an arrow landed an inch away from the doorframe. Would he take an arrow to some benign body part for 3,800 G? Without a doubt. The mercenary group mattered to Ike, and Ike mattered to him. And the dim possibility of consequently getting Shinon canned was a definite plus. It was these sorts of encounters that kept management exciting.

 

Next on his agenda: Mist.

 

He wasted a good fifteen minutes trying to locate her. She shouldn’t have been in the sparring hall, but there she was, practicing her fencing bladework. “Oh, hey Soren,” she greeted merrily, as if she didn’t have better things to do.

 

“You’re in good spirits,” he remarked. Soren assumed a more relaxed posture around her, putting his hands behind his back and holding his wrist loosely. “I assume you took that sword from the armory. Did you bother reorganizing everything or did you just grab that from the top of the pile,” he lectured. It was in Mist’s nature to clean a mess when she found one, but she wasn’t supposed to be practicing alone. It was ten in the morning; many others were sure to have passed through there—Ike? Possibly—but here was Mist, cheerful.

 

The young girl frowned, dropping her sword to her side. “I was just going to practice for a bit, then I’d take care of it. I wasn’t going to be long,” she said nervously, tone bordering on defensive. She lowered her eyes to the ground.

 

Soren would be lying if he said that he felt a pang of guilt. “Ah, I’ll also need you to deliver Ike’s meals to his room. He got hurt practicing with Mia, shouldn’t be moving around excessively for a couple of days,” he added. He could trust her to keep an eye on him.

 

“What happened? Is he okay?” Mist asked, walking up to him until he was only half a step away.

 

“Uhm, shouldn’t take over a week to heal properly,” Soren answered, all too uncomfortable with her close proximity. She was touchy, he could ascertain that much from most of her interactions.

 

“Oh, okay.” She looked like she was about to say something else, but she only looked down in thought. “Well, I was going to ask whether _I_ could go into the city with Titania, but… Could I go next time?” she asked halfheartedly.

 

“Mist, you’re free to do whatever you please in your free time,” he answered, all too ready to leave, “Titania’s second in command, and your brother _is_ the commander, ask them.” He rubbed the back of his neck, containing a frustrated sigh.

 

The young girl jerked back, taken aback by his annoyed tone. “Sorry…” She shuffled her feet, looking down at them awkwardly. “Soren, are you alright?” she questioned, voice sincere. She met his eyes for the first time during their conversation.

 

“I’m quite alright, Mist,” he said calmly, somber red eyes staring daggers at her. Goddess, he was exhausted and it was all too early in the day. “Excuse me.”

 

* * *

 

Soren blankly stared at his reflection in the water. He forgot to ask Mist if she wanted anything. Everyone in the party had a habit of making requests whenever he headed into any of the neighboring cities. Sure, the Greil mercenaries were mobile enough, often staying in these towns whenever they had a job, but everyone loved to have a personal shopper. And he occasionally managed to get things down to as much as half price.

He groaned as he fell back onto his back. He rubbed his forehead, his eyes and his cheeks with his knuckles, all too vigorously. Change… was painful. When it was forced. And Goddess was it forced. He could only be so mature when his life experiences were so limited. He knew poverty, famine, war, loss… And only recently, victory and triumph. He hadn’t felt a thing when Ike took down Ashnard, when Elincia reclaimed her throne, when the Crimean people hailed and cheered for them. It pained him that he received no gratification from accomplishments that ought to have made him feel… something. Pride? He didn’t even know. He wished there was someone he could talk to.

 

 

“Soren, ready to go?”

Titania had a strong, boisterous voice.

 

“Y-yeah,” Soren stuttered, unsure if he had dozed off or been simply daydreaming. That line seemed to have blurred. “Yeah…” he reaffirmed, voice trailing off. He felt sick; he hated the heat, but he also knew Ike enjoyed feeling the sunlight on his face.

 

“Here, it’s a long ride,” she offered, handing him a straw hat.

 

* * *

 

The sun was at its highest when Soren and Titania arrived at Port Talma. The city was as busy as ever, a meeting point for people from all walks of life. Merchants lined the streets, and passersby were easily swayed into stopping just to take a _quick_ look at their wares. Soren, he was a man of purpose. He knew what he wanted, what he needed, and exactly where to find it. Goals set in mind, he eagerly dismounted from Titania’s horse and lightly stretched, trying to shake off the aching sensations that ran throughout his body. “I’ll meet you back here in two hours.”

 

First, knick-knacks. They were the lightest. Ike always came to mind when he was shopping for knick-knacks. Small portions of expensive delicacies that Soren could barely afford despite spending his money on just about nothing else. That was the only temptation he had to resist as a shopper, but it was a big one. Throwaway cheap accessories may have looked appealing—they sure did to Mist, she always lingered—but they weren’t good enough for him. And then he spotted it. A ring that looked too rough and unpolished to warrant a second glance, but even at a distance, Soren spotted the symbol that had governed the entirety of his existence. It was an amber colored ring with a hammered cylindrical hoop and a round bezel. Therein was a dragon, its wings spread out and a snake in its claws. Above it, Soren’s branded Symbol.

He _had_ to have it; it was him; it was his; it didn’t belong with anyone else and certainly shouldn’t be put up on display. A whirlwind of emotions propelled him forward, only his voracious, crimson eyes betraying the nonchalant tone his voice carried when he asked for a price. He handed the merchant 13,000 G, slipped the ring into his pouch, and resumed his hasty walk through the bustling streets. He seethed with the sort of secondary rage that only resulted from fear and confusion.

The rest of his purchases were quick and methodical, nothing short of the usual. The ring sat in the back of his mind, but he struggled to keep it there. It got easier when the leather armor and steel weapons started to weigh him down. He was also carrying some cured fish and an array of spices, along with some oils and potions.

 

His face scrunched up into a frown when he didn’t spot Titania anywhere near her horse. Two hours. He set the tomes on the floor and started to attach whatever he could to the horse’s saddlebags.

 

“Soren, you wouldn’t believe—.”

 

“Oh _no_ ,” Soren interrupted, hushed voice barely containing his anger.

 

“For free, at the harbor. Just giving them away,” she continued, seemingly unphased by his protest. She had a massive fish that was probably twice his size slung over her shoulder. “Oscar’s been dying to get his hands on some fresh fish. You, Soren, are in for a feast,” she explained, grinning from ear to ear.

 

He was silent for a moment. “You’re not sitting in the front,” he warned, already put off by the fishy smell. It almost annoyed him how easily she carried such a heavy load. She had two other fairly large bags tossed over her other shoulder like they were nothing. He picked up the heavy books and held them to his chest, then climbed onto the horse. He grunted, already feeling uncomfortable.

 

“I can hold onto those,” Titania offered.

 

* * *

 

It was early in the evening by the time they got home. Soren practically jumped off the horse. “How do you do this, constantly,” he muttered, rubbing his backside in discomfort.

 

“Strong glutes; got to build up your muscles,” Titania recommended, gracefully dismounting despite the heavy load on her shoulders. They found Boyd training outside, and he greeted them cheerfully.

 

“Wow! You really went and got it!” he exclaimed, eying the giant fish the same way a hawk gazed down upon its prey. “Come on, then. I’m starving,” he continued, urging her to follow him.

 

Soren found himself hauling everything into the armory on his own. He left the straw hat and the rest of the personal items on the table. They were a couple of light, cotton clothes, pairs of boots, some belts and satchels, and a ruby brooch. Mist would appreciate that, he thought. Soren finally made his way to his own room and sat at his study, ready to get to writing up the daily report. Absently, he rolled the ring between his fingers.

 

* * *

 

Soren only knocked once before walking into Ike’s room.

 

“Can I just stay here a while,” he asked quietly.

 

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Ike answered, eying Soren skeptically. He hadn’t seen him all day, and their morning encounter felt an eternity away. “Busy day…?” he asked, moving closer to the wall to leave Soren some room.

 

Soren chuckled. “I wouldn’t get me started.” He stood still for a moment, eyes shifting between the space Ike had left him and the study.

He sat at the study and took off his boots, his belt, and finally his cloak with a long sigh. Exposed? He didn’t have the energy to feel exposed—he wished. He took in a deep breath, let out a long sigh, and realized he only had so much composure left. Under his usual folds of clothing was a lithe, lean body. “I can’t take this heat,” he muttered, pulling his hair up and bundling it into a ponytail only to let go of it all.

 

“You’d never cut your hair,” Ike remarked, tone bordering on challenging. “Come here, I’ll hold up your hair while you tell me how your day went,” he suggested, carefully (carefully) pushing himself up into a sitting position.

 

Soren could feel Ike’s eyes on him about as much as he could see the look on his face for himself. It sent shivers down his spine. “Ike…”  He let his voice trail off, unsure of what it was that he even wanted to say. He had _so much_ to say, so many things that he wanted to ask, but it wouldn’t be appropriate. He kissed him this morning, but he didn’t have the gall to say one thing that mattered. He rubbed his forehead; things were… out of sync.

“Rolf, of all people, wanted to train with me this morning. Not a moment after I left your room, he insisted—and I do mean insisted—that I fight him in an honest to goddess duel,” he said as he walked over to Ike. He sat at the edge of the bed—there was little space to begin with—and leaned back, one leg on the bed while the other hung in the air.

 

Ike followed through on his promise, gently grabbing Soren’s hair and holding it up away from the mage, going so far as to playfully blow a cool wisp of air onto the nape of his neck. “It hasn’t taken long for Mia to rub off on him,” he commented.

 

“I told him I have no interest in battling an inadequately-trained child, but I figured it would be faster to comply than deal with him following me the rest of the morning,” he continued, voice hitching when Ike touched him. “He gave me this,” he said, voice incredulous. Soren raised his forearm to reveal a small tear in the back of his sleeve. A long scab had formed on the skin there. Ike ran his fingers along the cut, only applying the faintest hint of pressure. It was embarrassing, but even more regrettable was how Rolf had gotten him to drop his guard. That part of the tale, he would omit. “I do wish that Shinon would either commit to training him or stop getting his hopes up. All of his movements are painfully predictable and uncoordinated,” he commended with disdain. Oh, he could go into an entire rant about how ill-suited Rolf was for battle (and the war they had won), and how naïve and foolish it had been for Ike to even allow him onto the battlefield. It hadn’t been their war to begin with, and Rolf had been under no obligation to join. Warriors and fighters like Boyd, Titania, Oscar… They forgot. They forgot how harrowing it was to first enter a battlefield, to spill blood with only some poorly construed rationalization to keep them from falling apart. Soren had hatred and seething rage, and only recently, loyalty to one man, but what could possibly drive Rolf? The impossible notion that he was necessary?

 

“He’s trying his best,” Ike said halfheartedly, all too aware of the validity of Soren’s feelings regarding the subject. Truthfully, he couldn’t have a particularly strong opinion on it. His own sword training was incomplete, and he had no knowledge or experience of leading even the smallest brigade, yet he had lead an army and commanded Beignon troops. With the right support and person at one’s side, he supposed even the inconceivable was possible. “Maybe I’ll go talk to Shinon about it,” he suggested, starting to toy with Soren’s hair. He wrapped a set of locks around his fingers, tugging all too gently.

 

Soren barely held in a scoff. “He’s not particularly receptive to you, as you should know,” he warned. Starting to relax, his body leaned into Ike until he rested his head on his shoulder. Warm. Warmth was the one thing he was trying to avoid in this heat. He went on to tell him that Shinon had been responsible for the mess in the armory, about how Mist was still trying to get away with training in secret, voice growing softer and softer until it came down to a low whisper.

 

Ike only noticed that Soren had drifted off to sleep when he glanced at him and saw that his eyes were closed. So he was that tired. “So—,” he cut himself off. He should probably let him rest. Ike felt like a voyeur, like he was prying into Soren’s personal life. Or maybe that was intimacy and he just needed to get used to it. He had looked so troubled when he burst in, so on the brink of collapsing that Ike had expected just that to happen. He was too tough for his own good. Ike brushed a couple of stray strands of hair out of Soren’s face, almost disturbed by how serene he looked.

Ike tried to fall asleep, but ultimately ended up just lying there with his eyes closed, listening to every quiet breath that Soren exhaled. It was probably a couple of hours later that Ike was alarmed by the quickening of the mage’s breathing. His eyebrows furrowed with concern. “Soren?” he whispered, resisting every instinct that told him to move. He wasn’t sure what to do, if he should do anything at all. It was when Soren started to moan, to tightly clench his fists, and move his head from side to side, that Ike reached for his hand, thumbing it tenderly, trying to urge him to relax. Was this right? Should he have woke him? He seemed to calm down a bit, but he was still mumbling incoherently. Ike wondered if this would go on all night, if this was how every one of his nights went (if he fell asleep at all).

Sure, Ike occasionally had bad dreams, maybe once or twice a week, but that was normal. He looked out the window; it was starting to get dark, and he remembered that it was still considerably early in the day. Early to be going to sleep, anyway. He found himself toying with Soren’s hair again, brushing it out of his face and trying to detangle it in the most harmless way possible.

 

Mist walked in unannounced, a cheerful pep in her step. “Iiiiiiiike, check out what—,” she cut herself off and stopped in her tracks. “Spicy fish,” she said in a low voice, holding out the plate of food for him to see. The aromatic smell quickly wafted through the small room, and Ike was just about salivating. “Um. What should I… Is he okay?” she asked. She took a couple of steps, craning forward to peer down at Soren curiously. He didn’t look so intimidating from this angle.

 

“I think so,” Ike replied. He tried to sit up properly, to get Soren to rest his head on the pillow instead of his shoulder, but the young mage only leaned in closer when Ike tried to pull away. It was oddly endearing, but perhaps not what he wanted Mist to see. “Is that new?” he asked, pointing at the brooch that clipped her cloak over her shoulders.

 

“Soren got it for me,” she beamed, pulling on it so he could get a better look. “But I shouldn’t stay long. We’ll talk tomorrow; got another surprise for you,” she teased, excitement coming through her hushed voice. “Could you thank him for me?” she asked as she handed Ike the plate, the gesture slow and deliberate.

 

“’Course.” 

 

Ike did his best to eat as quietly as he could. Really, he was just a step below Boyd when it came to table manners. Soren fidgeted, nuzzling up to him until he had his hand pressed against Ike’s chest. “Ike,” he whispered, voice low and sensual. He seemed to wake up, eyes blinking a couple times, but that was the last word he spoke that night. Ike later managed to get up, wash up, and return to his bed, all without disturbing Soren (or hurting himself). Absently, he thought he could get used to this. More realistically, he worried about tonight’s aftermath, how Soren would react when he was lucid. But right now, in his sleep, Soren welcomed Ike’s arm around him, nestled his head against his chest.


	5. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soren reaches his limit and Ike's there to comfort him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (suicide and self harm tw)

“Shinon, Oscar. Where’s Rhys? Mist, why are you here?” Soren asked, looking at the lot of them with tired, incredulous eyes.

 

“Rhys is running a fever,” Mist answered, voice cheery despite the unhappy news it bore.

 

“So you’re here.” Soren suppressed a sigh and rubbed his temples in annoyance, fingers lingering where the skin felt rough from light scratches. Rhys was but a precautionary measure; he supposed Mist could fulfill the same role just as dutifully. “The brief, for those of you who aren’t supposed to be here: There have been ambushes on the trade route between Arbor and Talma. We will be posing as travelers to lure out the brigands. Is that clear?” he explained, though he didn’t wait for an answer to board the wagon. He was all but out of both patience and energy.

Oscar explained to Mist the finer details of their mission: while it would be ideal for them to be ambushed during the day, en route, they were prepared for the possibility of being stalked until nightfall, likely upon arriving at the thick woods. While it did seem simple enough, missions like these were on the riskier side. Notice board quests tended to be… unreliable, at best. Not only were they going in with limited intel, it was very possible that they were going into absolutely nothing.

 

* * *

 

Soren found it difficult to even pretend to sleep. He kept touching his face, feeling the small nicks on his skin and the tender bruise at the very end of his right cheek. This was getting worse.

He heard a rustle. It was fairly windy and awfully dark, making it difficult to discern one sound from another and a tree trunk from an upright body. It was particularly difficult for Soren. He flinched at every sound, muscles in his hand tensing over the concealed Elwind tome. He wouldn’t react first. He had made that agreement with himself the moment they set up camp, noticing then that he was too high-strung to make calculated decisions in unpredictable situations.

 

Oscar jumped up, thrusting with his spear and eliciting a pained scream from his target.

 

“Three to the right. Eight North. Five, six south,” Shinon announced, readying his bow but not shooting just yet. He’d be wasting ammo on a mediocre chance of hitting his target. “Two, west. Archers. I think. Take cover,” he warned. It was easier to spot a moving target than an immobile one. He crouched behind a tree, relying on Oscar to cover his blind spots. The two shared an understanding nod.

 

Outnumbered. Way, way outnumbered. Soren wasted no time casting a spell and launching it toward another assailant. He took a lithe step back, ducked to the left, to the right, and drew out his dagger to parry the swordsman’s slash. He pushed back and finally created exploitable distance, dealing the final blow with a swift cast of Elwind. He was suddenly pushed forward, tripping over his assailant if not for the hand that pulled him back by his shoulder.

 

“Take. Cover,” Shinon repeated through gritted teeth, letting go of Soren as roughly as he had grabbed him. He knew where one of the snipers was and successfully took them down before they could release another arrow at them. It was worrying that only one attack was launched. Had he been wrong? He couldn’t know. He assumed a defensive stance beside Oscar, setting his sights in Soren’s direction as he was the most vulnerable.

They were surrounded. It was up to Soren and Shinon to keep that from becoming a disadvantage.

Once Soren got into a momentum, he managed to take out his attackers with ease. He heard loud thuds behind him, bodies dropping as Shinon covered his blind spot. Then, a blinding flash of light. Bolting? Soren almost evaded the attack, but ‘almost’ did nothing in the face of a bolt of lightning. He was knocked back several feet and collided with the caravan.  The horse neighed and kicked in protest, and Oscar had to prioritize calming it over checking on Soren for fear of it trampling over him. Mist rushed out of the caravan to kneel beside the fallen mage, sword in hand.

She had made the right choice; before she could even check on Soren, a cloaked man lunged at her, aiming his dagger directly at her throat. She parried the attack, but she struggled to hold her ground from her unstable position. Oscar finally joined in, launching a wide slash attack at the rogue to liberate Mist from her disadvantageous position. She followed it up with an elegant thrust, stabbing her attacker in the chest.

There was a loud, shrill scream from west of the forest; Shinon managed to take down the mage.

 

“Was that the last of them?” Mist asked, her en garde stance starting to falter as she started to give in to the urge to check on Soren.

 

“They’re retreating. Should I give chase?” Oscar asked, standing at the ready beside his horse.

 

Shinon’s eyes darted between Soren and Oscar. “I’ll cover you. Mist, don’t let your guard down,” he commanded. He rode behind Oscar, quite positive that he had only wounded the mage. They wouldn’t get rewarded for eliminating _some_ of the brigands, and the mission was their priority.

 

Mist reinforced her stance, lightly bending her knees and holding her sword in front of her. She wished she had brought out her Torch staff with her. Though her eyes had quite adapted to the darkness, she didn’t trust them enough when paired with her reaction time.

 

Soren let out a series of coughs, slamming his fist into the ground at the pain that shot through his chest. The collision had hurt him more than the magic itself. It would have been wiser of him to brace the attack than attempt to dodge it. “Mist. St-.” He couldn’t. He was positive now that his lungs were injured, perhaps pierced by a broken rib. He needed to breathe, but every inhale was pure affliction.

 

The young girl looked back at Soren. “Oh, thank goodness.” She breathed a sigh of relief but found that her dilemma was only exacerbated. Leave her post to heal Soren, but consequently leave him exposed to the enemy, or remain where she stood, unable to directly do anything to help him. She couldn’t ascertain how badly he was injured, and she could only hope that Shinon and Oscar would return quickly. “They’ll be back soon,” she tried to reassure him, though her voice was anything but reassuring.

 

“Mist!” Soren called out, but his voice came out barely above a whisper. He gestured to the tome in his hand. He knew there was no chance in hell he could defend himself, but she didn’t.

 

Mist gave the area a thorough once over before running into the wagon, retrieving a Torch and a Mend staff. She quickly lit up the area then jumped out. She kneeled over Soren, examining his body to determine where he’d been hurt. She didn’t see any blood. Internal? She looked around again before turning to Soren. “Where?”

 

Soren placed his hand on the right side of his chest. He’d die with a cleric right by his side because of Mist’s indecisiveness. He was smart enough to keep his snarky remarks to himself until she finally held the Mend staff over his chest. A bright light encompassed the two of them, and Soren could finally take in a deep breath. “Took you long enough,” he muttered, pushing himself up against the wagon.

 

“Rhys needs to take a look at it. I don’t think I healed it fully,” she admitted, too concerned with Soren’s wellbeing to be bothered by his attitude. She stood up and resumed her defensive stance, shuddering at the sight of the bodies that littered their little encampment. Shinon and Oscar would be back soon.

 

Soren looked up at her, eyebrows furrowing at the sight of her shaky stance. Shinon trusted her to protect him? He firmly pressed his hand around his chest, feeling every rib and determining which ones had just been healed. He applied a bit of vulnerary to the area, hoping to numb some of the resounding pain. He still tasted blood in his mouth.

“Mist, you don’t need to stand guard,” he advised as he stood up. His body protested in pain, muscles aching all over from the impact, but he leaned against the wagon. “You should go back inside. I’ll wait out here.” His voice was uncharacteristically soft.

 

She opened her mouth to protest. Soren was back on his feet; he was in charge and she should trust his judgement.

 

“You’re in my care when Ike isn’t around, you know that,” Soren added when she didn’t respond. He shook his head at her recurring hesitance but saw no purpose in reprimanding her once more. She was shaken; her time on the battlefield was over.

 

“Alright,” she acquiesced. She hopped onto the wagon and sat at the edge, though she kept her body turned inwards. The image was stuck in her mind, but it helped to look away.

 

* * *

 

Soren was jolted into consciousness by an agonizing, throbbing sensation in his wrist. Standing? How could he be standing? When he relaxed his muscles, there was a loud, metallic _klang_. He looked down and saw his dagger, the steel coated in blood and reflecting a warped, distorted version of his visage. Blood trickled down– _drip, drop, drip_. He raised his gaze to the source, eyes widening when faced with his mangled wrist. His breath got caught in his throat. His stomach turned and twisted. He froze, terrified to death. Was that bone? _Goddess was that BONE?_ He covered his mouth with his hand and looked away, gagging. His heart raced, and all too quickly he lost control of his breathing. How could he not panic? His knees gave out; he reached for the study for support but only knocked over a book.

Soren trembled. He lay collapsed in his own pool of blood. He weaved in and out of consciousness, the word _cleanse_ echoing through his mind like a mantra.

 

The door creaked open, and there was a loud yawn. “Soren?” Ike asked, voice sleepy. He blinked and blinked until his eyes adjusted to the warm light, absently scratching his head. “Soren!” he exclaimed, but his voice came out as a hushed whisper. He ran to him and kneeled beside him, eying his surroundings for the attacker. “Soren? Soren?” he asked, shaking him. “Wha–.” The words were caught in his throat. What, what was that? His wrist, his arm. _What the hell was that?_ He leaned forward to pick him up, then backed up. He shouldn’t move him. He should stop the bleeding.

 

“Cleanse,” Soren mumbled, body still shivering. His skin was pallid.

 

How could he apply pressure to _that_? He needed to get help now, but he didn’t know if the assassin was still around–though there were no signs of an attempted assassination. The wrist was an odd target for a killer, but an all too common one for… He stood up and rushed out of the room, returning in less than a minute with Mist by his side. He rambled an incomprehensible explanation to her in that short time frame until she finally told him to calm down. “I can’t think!” she complained.

She experienced the same shock that Ike went through. She froze, grimly reminded by the array the anonymous bodies strewn across a battlefield. Except it was Soren. She forced herself to recover and sat beside him. “Prop him up,” she told Ike, voice somehow stern yet weak. She took out several vulneraries, using one to disinfect her hands and the other to numb the… site of the laceration. “I really think you should get Rhys,” she told Ike, tone dubious.

 

“Mist, you know what to do,” Ike stated firmly, eyes fixated on Soren. Life or death, and he was still concerned with Soren’s privacy. He took in a deep breath; Mist was capable.

 

She grabbed a thick, wide roll of bandage and set it one end of the gash, then placed hard, lateral pressure on it, pulling the skin as far as she could to the other side of the cut. More pressure. He was still bleeding profusely. Soren let out a weak moan, barely conscious at this point. “Ike, hold this. You have to be rough,” she requested, only letting go when Ike had a solid grasp on the cut. She held the Recover staff over the bandaged area, pouring all of her concentration into casting the healing spell; she never used magic this powerful.

She set down the staff and grabbed the bandage, wrapping it around Soren’s forearm a couple of times before sealing it. Mist breathed out a long sigh. The bleeding was under control. “We need to get him on the bed,” she said after a moment of thought, rubbing her forehead with the back of her wrist.

 

“I’ll hold him up from this end,” Ike replied, sneaking his arms under Soren’s shoulders while Mist grabbed him by his legs. Slowly, they moved him onto the bed, then gently set him down. “He lost a lot of blood. Haaa… Get some blankets from the storage, he’s freezing,” she instructed, looking down at Soren with furrowed eyebrows. Had she done enough, fast enough, well enough? He would regain consciousness. She leaned over him and unbuttoned his shirt. Okay.

“Thanks,” Mist said quietly as she took the wool blankets and draped them over Soren. “I think… that’s it. Ike, what happened? What’s going on?” she asked, all of her contained panic and confusion now seeping into her voice. “Did Soren—.” She couldn’t bring herself to vocalize the thought.

 

“I don’t know, Mist. I found him the same way you did,” he said, “Is he going to be alright?” His eyes pleaded with Mist, as if there was anything more that she could do to help Soren.

 

“I, well, he lost a lot of blood. But I think you found him in time. Any later…” she let her voice trail off, met yet again with an unspeakable thought. Any later and he’d be dead. “I need to sit,” Mist muttered to herself. Slowly, taking small, calculated steps, she walked over to the study and sat down. She stared down at the pool of blood with blank eyes.

 

He watched her. Ike didn’t know what to do, how to behave. When Soren woke up, what would he do. What would be the right thing to say? “You don’t have to stay,” he told her quietly. He stood over Soren, waiting. Waiting for what felt like an eternity for him to blink, move a muscle, do anything.

 

 

The first sound to come out of Soren was a pained moan. His head throbbed. His arm was on fire, scorching. The pain felt… unnatural. Magic? Improperly used, overpowering magic. What happened? What _was_ happening? Before he could even blink his eyes open, he heard Ike’s voice.

 

“Soren? Soren? I, we, how do you feel?” asked uncertainly. He couched beside the bed, bringing himself down to Soren’s eye level. Was this too forward? Should he…? What _should_ he do? He hated to admit it, but it was all too tempting to leave Soren, let him recover on his own, act as though there had been an assassin and they’d discuss reinforcing the fort the next day. Ike felt better suited to guard Soren’s room from the outside than sit with him when he was in such a vulnerable state. When he had just tried to kill himself.

 

Soren was silent for a moment, simply taking in his surrounding through hazy eyes. He took in a deep breath. “Ike, what are you doing here?” he asked, the usual bite all too present in his voice. He tried to move his arm, but all he could move was his shoulder, maybe nudge his upper arm. Fear started to creep up on him, the possibility of losing movement in his arm harrowing.

 

“Soren, you… We found you on the floor, bleeding to death!” Mist cried out, jumping out of the chair. “You cut your arm open, expecting, expecting what, Soren?” she continued, keeping her voice barely below a shout.

 

“This has nothing to do with you,” Soren muttered, more preoccupied with the state of his arm than Mist’s hysterics. It could be the magic; it could also be the gash he’d given himself.

 

“Soren,” Ike interjected before Mist could retort. He looked into the mage’s eyes, desperately hoping to find the answers he wouldn’t give him there. How could Soren seem so… ambivalent, about his own life. He pushed himself up, anger starting to well up in him too. “This… Whatever it is that you’re doing, or going through, you’re not handling it, Soren. I told you…” Overcome with emotion, he couldn’t keep speaking.

 

“I _want_ to be here for you,” Mist said softly, “You’re family. I don’t have… much family left,” she admitted, crossing her arms over her chest. There were odd moments where Mist felt like her mother, and this was one of them. She let out a tired sigh.

 

Soren’s eyes shifted between the two of them, eyebrows furrowed, eyes forlorn. He opened his mouth to speak but found the words he intended to say were… untrue. He found that there was nothing he really wanted to say. He uncovered his arm, though irrational, fully expecting it to be in the same state he’d left it. Mercifully, it wasn’t. The bandage was bloody around the wound, but it seemed safe to assume that the bleeding had stopped. “This needs to be changed,” he remarked quietly. He was deathly uncomfortable. He couldn’t move his arm. Consequently, he felt incapable of moving at all.

 

“I’ll go get another roll,” Mist replied. Her voice came out tired and drained. Ike stared at her as she walked, only turning his attention back to Soren when she was out the door. “Are you comfortable? Are you in pain?” he asked him, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

Soren’s eyes widened in surprise. “I think my pillow is on the floor,” he answered, reluctant to respond to his other question. “It’s mostly numb.” Again, he tried to move his forearm, but that only lead to him letting out an aggravated sigh.

 

Ike bent down to pick up Soren’s pillow, dusting it off before he carefully placed it behind the mage’s head. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Like I said, this has nothing to do with you.”

 

“I’ve had enough of the lies,” Ike said, voice surprisingly calm. It surprised him that he felt disappointed. He’d never been disappointed in Soren. “I’m not perceptive or smart enough, not as much as you. I can’t just know,” he admitted. “I wish I knew. I feel that I should.”

 

It wasn’t often that Soren felt, _really_ felt so deeply that it physically pained him, yet Ike’s words moved him, pained him, stabbed him in the heart and twisted. He felt his agony and knew he was to blame. He rubbed his eyes, wiping at what felt like the onset of tears. “I’ve had certain…” It was a silly thing to say. “Nightmares, since I found out I was branded. Recently, they’ve gotten worse. A lot worse.” Ridiculous thing to say aloud.

 

Mist came in with a roll of bandages, a vulnerary, a wet cloth, and a cup of water. The tension in the air was palpable. She set the cup down on the table before walking over to Soren. “Don’t stop on my account,” she mumbled, a coy smile tugging on her lips for the briefest of moments. Gently, she removed the bandage, being extra careful when she tugged at the section that had gone over the actual wound–it had stuck a bit. What was once a disturbingly deep laceration had healed into a more acceptable looking laceration. It was a relief not to see the center of his forearm parted like a messy ditch that was simply inviting something—and many living things would fit—to crawl into it. She dabbed at the wound with her cloth, expecting Soren to flinch, but he didn’t.

 

“So… I haven’t been able to sleep, not in any meaningful way.” Soren wondered if he should elaborate. That was a fairly common thing to say, ‘I can’t sleep,’—even he’d been guilty of tossing the phrase around on the rare occasion he felt inclined to chat. Did they need to understand? Mist, in particular, what right did she have to hear this? To listen to him go on about such private matters? All he had to do was look to his left, at his arm, to know just why. So, he did. “I started waking up with some bruises a month ago. Or more, I’m not sure,” he continued, “Self-inflicted.” He thought he ought to make that clear.

 

Mist lingered, keeping her hand on Soren’s arm though it was disinfected and rewrapped. She did want to hold his hand, to show him that she was there for him and that she appreciated his honesty and his willingness to be open with her in such a precarious situation.

 

“Self-inflicted? As in, you hurt yourself in your sleep?” Ike asked, narrowing his eyes at Soren.

 

“I know how it sounds,” Soren quickly answered, a hint of panic making its way into his voice. He tried to sit up if only a little, get more of his back against the pillow, be in a position where he could defend himself, make a point, but he felt dizzy and lightheaded the moment he raised his head.

 

“No, it’s not, I’m not doubting you. That’s just, it must’ve been scary for you to go through that,” Ike said quietly, regretting having asked anything at all.

 

“Then it got worse. Until, what happened tonight. I just, woke up standing, dagger in hand and my arm… in that state,” Soren concluded, keeping his tone even. They hadn’t allowed him to process what happened. He took in a deep breath, struggling to bite down on his rising panic.

 

“Mist, excuse us,” Ike said suddenly. While he hated to shut her out—and unintentionally, he often did—this was enough.

 

Mist raised her eyebrows, her surprised expression quickly turning into one of disappointment. “I… Soren, I hope you feel better, soon,” she said quietly, all too suddenly feeling their eyes on her. She walked out of the room with her hands clasped in front her and slowly shut the door behind her.

Ike brought the study chair over to the bed and sat down.

“I know it’s hard for you to share things with me, but had I known that you were struggling so much with this, don’t you think I would have helped?” Ike asked after a moment.

 

“No.” It was a straightforward answer. Soren had never considered sharing his dilemma with Ike. “I believe you would have questioned my competence as your tactician and the merits of keeping me in your company.”

 

“Soren, I… I trust you to come to me. I have to.” His voice came out strained. Soren had built his walls up, and lashing out the way Mist had earlier would only aggravate matters. He wondered if Soren knew how his words hurt him. He felt self-absorbed, considering something like that when the man had just tried to kill himself. “Don’t you think your life is worth living?” he asked quietly.

 

“I’m branded. An orphan. I have no title or considerable wealth. No loyalty to any country. For years, I…” Soren frowned, a pang of guilt running through him as he found that he couldn’t finish that sentence. “I continue to live because I have lived this long.” It became more and more difficult for Soren to keep his tone even, to keep the doubt and shakiness he felt from seeping into it.

 

Ike stared down at his lap. He didn’t want to argue with Soren; he wanted to understand—needed to. But he didn’t. So what? All he could think was _so what?_ “I’m sorry,” was all he could bring himself to say.

 

Silence fell over the room. Soren looked away, eyes downcast in shame.

 

“You look like a prince, to me. You carry a certain air of regality and confidence around you. When I met Sanaki, even before I knew who she was, she reminded me of you. As did Soothe, actually, in his devotion and resilience. Reyson, in his quiet, elegant strength. You’re more than an orphan, or a branded, or any of that. You’ve… come a long way since the day we first met. You can see that, right? That you’re your own person?” Ike said with great uncertainty. Even he wasn’t sure of the point that he was making, if he was making one at all. His eyes looked at Soren with intensity and focus.

 

“Ike…” His mind went black. It was ridiculous, what he was saying. His cheeks reddened with embarrassment. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, “This is my blood, my heritage. It doesn’t just go away.” _Can’t bleed it out,_ he thought bitterly.

“It’s only fair that someone so… exceptional should have some faults,” Ike conceded, “If that’s how you must feel about it,” he mumbled, as if Soren chose to be repulsed by his mere existence.

 

“I must,” Soren agreed quietly.

 

“As long as it doesn’t continue to affect you, like this. I can’t bear the thought of losing you, not to yourself, not to anyone,” he warned, though his tone only carried great weakness and vulnerability.

 

Soren tensed up. “I know,” he mumbled, feeling awkward accepting Ike’s sentiments when he was in this state. “I was careless,” he stated more audibly, “I need to get out of this room,” he added, all too eager to move on from this dreary subject. He knew that wasn’t the end of it, but he could barely keep his eyes open. Though he wouldn’t admit it—neither to himself nor to Ike—he was terrified by the prospect of going to sleep, alone, here.

 

“Oh. Do you want to go outside? It’s breezy; or would that be too cold?” Ike asked, eager to aid Soren in any way he could. He should have thought of that; why would Soren want to stay here, where he’d just… Now knowing what happened, Ike was surprised—perturbed, really—by how calm Soren managed to remain. He should have been in shock, distraught, confused, terrified—and yet he emanated the air of someone who was cool and confident, who had everything under control. “Can you stand?”

 

“Outside is fine,” Soren replied, “Just take this with me,” he added, lifting up wool blanket with one hand. “No, I don’t think so.”

 

Ike leaned over Soren and slipped his hands under him, hoisting him into his arms in one quick motion.

Soren was a tad caught off guard, intending to use his left arm to balance himself only for it to fail him. He found himself up close and personal with Ike’s face, meeting his eyes for a short moment. “You are familiar with the consequences of heavy blood loss: lightheadedness, dizziness, nausea, weakness… A soft, zephyr-like touch would have been appreciated,” he whined, voice serious and methodical though a playful smile tugged at the tips of his lips.

 

Ike chuckled. He supposed they both had a way of clearing the air. “Thought you’d be lighter,” he teased. He pulled Soren close to him, doing his best to keep him snug in his blanket. “Your arm…” he remarked, his observations from the rest of the evening coalescing into this conclusion. While Soren placed his right hand on his shoulder for support, his other arm hung limp at his side.

 

“Just needs time,” Soren reassured, though he’d resigned to simply not thinking about it. He’d never trusted time. Expecting results out of inaction was silly optimism. “I think it’s just the healing magic,” he said, unfortunately finding that voicing his hypothesis only made it sound flimsier.

 

Ike furrowed his eyebrows. “That can happen?” He didn’t know much in the ways of magic, and he’d never bothered to try and learn. He walked out of the room into the hallway, looking left and right before continuing outside.

 

“Yeah,” Soren mumbled, preoccupied by the fact that he’d have to adapt to only using one hand. Would the forearm even be worth keeping? He was prepared for the worst and expected nothing less. Oddly enough, it calmed him to plan out his next course of action, to become so engrossed in a future where this was long forgotten.

 

“Soren? Is this alright?” Ike asked, peeking down at Soren to see if he had fallen asleep. Soren blinked a couple of times before finally offering a weak nod in response. Ike slowly sat down, only letting go of him when he was on the grass.

 

Soren only now noticed that they were outside, by the lake. He supposed that Ike often saw him hanging around here. He snuggled up to him, lying as close to him as possible. It was a primal instinct. “Ike, I—.” What did he want to say, need to say? “How do you suppose we should tackle this?” he asked, voice breaking mid-sentence despite his arduous efforts to keep calm.

 

“I’ll watch over you,” Ike said matter-of-factly. He instantly saw apprehension in Soren’s face and laughed it off. “If you stay with me, I can make sure nothing happens in your sleep. Then you won’t have to worry,” he explained, content with his plan.

 

If he were any less wound up, he would have also laughed. “Ike, it’s not that simple,” Soren reprimanded, grateful not to have to make eye contact with him.

 

Ike patted Soren’s head, the tips of his fingers softly twirling his hair. “Give me a chance. Let me help you,” he said quietly. For the moment, he was alert and Soren was exhausted; he could watch over him easily enough. He liked this, sitting under the moonlight by the lake with Soren at his side, knowing in his heart that things could only get better from here. Ike waited and waited for Soren’s inevitable answer only to find that the mage had fallen asleep.


End file.
